


Anticipation of the Next Course

by learningthetrees



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Eating the rude, F/M, Post-Hannibal, french open
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningthetrees/pseuds/learningthetrees
Summary: When the tennis match they're spectating is delayed because of rain, Hannibal and Clarice discuss coping with anticipation.





	Anticipation of the Next Course

To the average spectator, they were a couple of wealthy European socialites enjoying the French Open. His crisp white shirt was buttoned up to a colorful ascot, her broad-brimmed hat shaded her face while her platinum blonde hair pulled into a low bun. They sipped champagne, the man occasionally turning his head towards his companion to speak, his lips against her ear. No one would suspect that he was a wanted serial killer on the run or that she was a former FBI agent—an ignorance that they both counted on. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a master of hiding in plain sight, and Clarice Starling was nothing if not subtle.

The morning had been clear, but by the afternoon, solid grey clouds rolled in overhead, and thick drops of rain began to hit the court. The officials, concerned for the state of the court and the well-being of the players, postponed the match, so the spectators began to dissipate, seeking shelter under roofs and overhangs as the rain picked up speed. In their seating below a small roof, the sophisticated couple remained dry and retained their seats for the start of the match.

“More, my dear?” Hannibal asked, proffering the champagne bottle. Clarice nodded, nothing more than a jerk of the chin, and Hannibal topped off her flute. They fell silent as they watched the seating below them clear of spectators, the stadium growing grey with mist from the hard rain. Several drenched people sidled into their section to take cover, but a glance from Hannibal kept them several feet off. They may not have known who the enigmatic couple was, but they were intimidated nonetheless.

“Do you think the rain will last long?” Clarice asked softly, her voice barely audible above the rain.

“It’s difficult to say,” Hannibal replied. “The clouds don’t look promising.”

Clarice tipped her head back to look at the sky, bracing her hat against her head as she did. What had earlier been a royal blue tapestry dotted with a few white clouds was now a dark, roiling mess of storm clouds.

“I’m not good at waiting,” Clarice admitted, looking back to her companion.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Patience is a virtue.”

“I thought I was finished being virtuous,” she said, her voice lilting flirtatiously.

“Virtues aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said. “And I’ve found that waiting often enhances the pleasure of what’s to come.”

“In some cases, yes,” Clarice said. “But I don’t think waiting for a tennis match is going to make me enjoy it more.”

“Hasn’t your anticipation of a thing ever made the thing worth it? Have you ever been able to taste a meal before you can partake of it, or been able to feel your lover’s skin before you can touch it?” Hannibal watched her over the rim of his champagne glass, his eyes glinting with the mischief of one who knows the answer to the question he’s just asked.

“You know I have,” Clarice said.

“And when you finally do take a bite or steal a kiss, the memory pales in comparison,” Hannibal continued. “None of your imaginings can compare to the real thing, but you can certainly try.”

“So I should hold myself over by imagining the match?” she asked, taking a sip of champagne.

“Either that, or you can decide our first course for this evening,” Hannibal said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat. Their agreement was that he would cook anything Clarice asked him to, although she usually declined and he was left to decide. He was on his way to achieving his goal of broadening her palate, and she was getting better at trying a greater variety.

“I’d hate to consider myself a better culinary expert than you,” she said with a smile.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Anything can be eaten.”

The rain was starting to let up, more of a soft drizzle than a downpour, and other spectators were becoming restless. One young man, whose Oxford shirt was untucked and his hair untidy, shuffled past the couple in the row behind them. As he stepped clumsily past them, his hip bumped into Clarice and knocked her hat from her head.

“ _Excusez-moi_ ,” Hannibal called to the young man, who hadn’t stopped. He looked back at the doctor, turning only his neck while the rest of his body was poised to walk away. In Hannibal’s eyes, one of the ultimate forms of disrespect. “You knocked the lady’s hat off.”

The young man looked at the hat lying on the stadium floor and gave a one-armed shrug. “She can pick it up,” he said, turning back and vaulting over a row of seats.

Clarice turned to look at Hannibal, whose pained expression revealed his attempt for composure. “Dear,” she started, laying her hand lightly on his wrist, “I think I know what I’d like for dinner tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com](http://www.ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com)!


End file.
